“And now listen to me in turn. You have touched me more profoundly than I thought even you could have touched me—my heart was full when you came here today. Henceforward I am yours for everything. . . .”
Issy refrained from glancing at Caleb’s window, her voice almost hitching on the last line. She didn’t love Caleb. But he had filled her heart with hope. With him, she’d felt almost normal, not a hint of panic when he’d run his hand into her hair, kissed her so sweetly. She’d wanted to run her fingers through his goatee and—
No.
“Have you ever received a romantic letter? Could you love someone without ever meeting him? Let’s take one last caller. The lines are open.”
Of course she wasn’t in love with BoyNextDoor, either. But something about his friendship felt easy and fun. Even comforting, like she could share with him something of her heart.
She could fall in love with someone like BoyNextDoor. Someday.
“MissElizabeth, you’re on the air.”
“I think letters are romantic. And like you pointed out last week, what if the person you fall for isn’t attractive? You can love them if you know their heart—but how will you know it if you don’t give them a chance?”
“Good point, MissE. But it brings up my next topic—when do you call it quits? How much do you invest in a relationship before you know that it won’t work? Miss Foolish Heart normally recommends three dates. But if you see it’s not going to work, how do you break up? Should you use a letter?”
In the background, Elliot had cued up “Breaking Up Is Hard to Do” by Neil Sedaka. Nice touch, Elliot.
“UnluckyInLove, you’re on the air.”
The voice that came on the line sounded husky and dark and anything but lucky, as if she’d nursed her own broken heart. “Breaking up over e-mail is a cheap trick. It’s easy and quick, but the best breakups help each other grow.”
“So you’re saying that breaking up isn’t about blaming, but about helping each other become better people?”
“I’m saying people need closure, and it isn’t fair to shut someone down over e-mail, is all.” Her voice ended with a crack. “They deserve a reason.” She hung up.
“Um, thank you for the call, Unlucky. Miss Foolish Heart agrees with you. A mature relationship talks through why it isn’t working and respects the other party.” She hoped her voice didn’t betray her on that last line. Caleb had knocked on the door twice today. She hated herself for staying upstairs, locked in her office, but she couldn’t embarrass herself any further. He deserved an explanation, although a smart man without a foolish heart would have already figured it out.
“What about timing? Is there ever a time to break up because you’re not ready? Or do you hold on until you are?”
In the caller queue, PrideAndPassion appeared. Hopefully not with more pleading for Issy to attend her wedding.
“GotMyHeart, nice to see you back. How are you doing today?”
“I’m good. I wanted to respond to your letter conversation. I met my boyfriend online in a chat room. We’re going to meet in a couple weeks, and . . . well, I’m not sure if it’s the right timing. But I don’t want to break up with him. It’s just that I’m in school and I want to finish before I start anything serious. What should I do?”
“Miss Foolish Heart always recommends sticking to the plan. Tell him you’re not ready to meet and that if he wants you, he’ll wait for you. Good luck, Heart.
“It’s true that in our new age, many relationships start online. And without having to look the person in the eye, it’s easier to share intimate thoughts, so it’s something to beware of. Miss Foolish Heart suggests keeping your conversations casual and light and saving the intimate sharing until you are face-to-face.”
Except, of course, when you’re unable to meet face-to-face. Oh, Elliot should just pull the plug on her right now.
They had thirty seconds to commercial and only PrideAndPassion left in the queue. Well, she could cut her off if she started making a scene. “Thanks for the call.” Issy took a breath and found her cheerful voice. “PrideAndPassion, you’re on the air.”
Sobbing, and a hiccup of breath.
“Pride?”
“Miss Foolish Heart, I think I made a terrible mistake.”
Issy kept her voice calm. “What’s the problem?”
“I think I should call off the wedding. I don’t know if he’s the right one.”
See, this was why she made her callers remain anonymous, so when they announced they were getting married, then backed out, they didn’t all end up in the tabloids.
“Pride, what happened?”
“Nothing. I mean—everything is great. Except . . . what if it’s not?”
“You’re not making sense.”
“What if, one day, he decides that he doesn’t love me? Or that I’m too neurotic? Or he meets someone else? How do I know that this is going to be my Happily Ever After?”
Issy’s own words filled her mind. Is he a ten? Does he have the big three? Are you caught in the love fog? But for the first time, the platitudes she offered seemed more like military rules than wisdom. “The truth is, I don’t know, Pride. It could be perfect one second, and the next, something could happen. You could have an illness, or yes, he could decide he doesn’t love you.” Or a truck could run a red light and destroy your life. “There are no guarantees.”
Silence. Then, “That’s what I thought. I . . . I can’t live like that, being afraid it’s all going to crumble.”
Issy heard something in her voice, something she couldn’t place. “Pride, is that why you broke up with your last five boyfriends? Because you were afraid? ”
“They weren’t tens, Miss Foolish Heart. And you always said, if he’s not a ten when you’re dating, he’s going to be even less when you bring him home.”
She had said that, but it was based more on a guess than reality. And frankly, were there ever any tens? Issy knew better than anyone that you had to look beyond the facade to the person behind the mask. Even then, there were no guarantees that the person you loved wouldn’t jump up and go running out of your arms. Still, a gal had to protect her heart. “I did say that, Pride. If you aren’t ready, then . . .”
“The wedding is off. I have no choice. I’m going to have to wait until I find the perfect ten. Thank you, Miss Foolish Heart. You saved me again.”
Pride hung up.
Issy went to commercial, still hearing Pride’s words. I can’t live like that, being afraid it’s all going to crumble. She stared at the forum, at the activity. Not all of them agreed with her, and indeed she didn’t entirely love her response to Pride.
In the phone queue, BoyNextDoor appeared, and warmth coursed through her. She didn’t care what Miss Foolish Heart advised—she liked her online friendship with BoyNextDoor and planned to hold on to it.
If she couldn’t have Caleb, then BoyNextDoor might be enough.
Her studio phone rang and she picked it up.
“What are you doing?”
Elliot, and she could picture him pacing.
“What are you talking about?”
“Did you just tell Lauren O’Grady to break up with her fiancé? Are you nuts? Maybe I should give out your home number to the governor when he calls.”
“Elliot, you heard her. She wasn’t sure.”
“Life isn’t sure! It doesn’t mean you stop living it!”
She drew in a breath. Opened her mouth. Nothing emerged.
Elliot’s tone softened. “Sorry. It’s just . . . we can’t have people saying that Miss Foolish Heart sabotages relationships.”
But she did, didn’t she?
She fought the quiver in her voice as she went back on the air. “BoyNextDoor, so glad you could show up. Give us an update on the Girl.”
“She’s not talking to me.” He sounded . . . annoyed? Angry? “And there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Are you breaking up?” She didn’t know what to make of the sw
irl of heat in her chest. Happiness? Panic?
“I don’t know. She won’t tell me what I did wrong. Or let me fix it.”
“What happened?”
“I did everything you told me to—I asked her out, we had a couple nice dinners, and then . . . it isn’t fair. I did everything you told me to and she still shut me down.”
She recognized this tone—had heard her father use it too many times after a loss.
“Maybe she needs time to figure out what she lost, Boy. Women are like that—we get lost in the emotions and need time to see clearly.”
She glanced at Caleb’s window.
“I don’t know. Maybe she’s not into me. I might be trying too hard.”
She wanted to reach through the line and take his hand. I won’t hurt you, BoyNextDoor. I won’t shut you down. But that could be because he was long-distance. Safe.
“It’s possible that she is just afraid.” She didn’t know where that came from, but it felt right—the first right thing she’d said all night. She took a breath, wanted to give him more. “I had a date last night. It was nearly perfect—simple, you know? Take-out Thai food that we ate on his porch. We talked and even shared a kiss. But sometimes what seems perfect has hidden flaws. Even dangerous ones. She might be trying to protect you from something.”
His voice had changed, taken on a kind of tremor. “Uh . . . protect me from what?”
“Herself?”
Silence on his end, and she realized that she’d probably revealed too much. Never had she told the audience about herself, and now she knew why. But like Rachelle said, they couldn’t see her. BoyNextDoor wouldn’t possibly dream that Miss Foolish Heart was Isadora Presley, trapped in her north woods home.
* * *
Isadora Presley was Miss Foolish Heart.
Caleb froze, unable to move, to speak. I had a date last night. It was nearly perfect. . . . Take-out Thai food that we ate on his porch.
He ran through her tidbits of advice, his body turning to ice. What was this, some sort of game to her? How long had she known he was her caller? She was making a fool out of him with all those things she told him to do—and he did them. Like some sort of . . . puppet.
Or one of her father’s plays.
Why? Was he an experiment? Or maybe an advertisement for her show? He’d heard the replay show on Sunday, the few ads about how Miss Foolish Heart could even help the boy next door find his true love.
She’d used him.
No. She’d lied to him.
And he’d told her his secrets. She knew about his leg. No wonder Seb Brewster had watched his practices—probably waiting for him to fail. In fact, the whole town probably knew.
They’d been playing him the whole time—all of them. Pitying him. No wonder Ryan didn’t want to play for him, why the kid showed him no respect.
He wouldn’t respect a coach who could fall on his face any second either. Or a coach who lied.
Worse, after practice, Caleb had actually purchased flowers, appeared at her door, knocked. And knocked. Then, desperate, he’d called the My Foolish Heart hotline asking for help on how to win her back.
Funny that he didn’t hear crazy laughter filtering out of her office upstairs.
“BoyNextDoor, are you still there?”
Two could play at this game.
“Tell me, Miss Foolish Heart, what do you think is the definition of a foolish heart? Is it someone who gives their heart away too easily?”
“Uh . . . I suppose—”
“Or is it someone who believes in the actions, the smile of another, only to find out she’s been mocking him behind his back?”
He’d opened the forum and watched the discussion light up. It was almost like running a quarterback sneak—it confused the defense.
Ellery09: He sounds angry.
HeartLikeHis: Maybe she broke up with him.
He wanted to type in Miss Foolish Heart is a fraud, but he couldn’t bring himself to eviscerate her because of his own hurt. He wouldn’t out her on the air.
“Did your Girl mock—?”
“Or how about someone who just flat-out lies to you? Makes you believe she’s someone, but in reality, she’s another person altogether?”
Her voice cut low, added in compassion, and he would have believed her if he didn’t know the truth. “What happened?”
He fought to keep the anger from his voice. “I just found out that the Girl—you know, the one you’ve been trying to get me to date—”
“Of course.”
“Yeah, well, I guess you would.” Whoops.
“I don’t understand, Boy.”
“Let me clear it up for you, then. I just found out the Girl is using me. She wasn’t really interested in knowing me, but only in what I could do for her.” He winced even as he said it.
He expected an indrawn breath, expected her to catch on, but . . . “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”
“You’re . . . sorry?”
“Of course. Anyone who uses someone else is . . . Well, it’s not your fault, that’s for sure. Let’s get back to your original question. The definition of a foolish heart. I think that’s a great question. What do you think a foolish heart is, listeners?”
Oh, she was good, and he’d played right into her hand. He hung up.
But she hadn’t finished with him yet. Her avatar popped up and asked him for a chat.
He accepted on impulse and regretted it instantly.
MissFoolishHeart: BoyNextDoor, is there something I’ve done to hurt you?
He stared at the cursor. Something to hurt him?
Seriously?
MissFoolishHeart: Are you sure the Girl is using you? Why would she do that?
What if . . . what if she didn’t know it was him?
He considered his question for a few beats before he typed.
BoyNextDoor: MissFoolishHeart, how many dates have you been on?
He watched the chat box, waiting to see her type. If she knew it was him, she wouldn’t lie, would she? But if she didn’t . . .
MissFoolishHeart: I’ve had enough dates to know a good one.
Interesting.
BoyNextDoor: What made last night’s date nearly perfect?
He wasn’t sure exactly why he asked that, but it had been a nearly perfect evening, including the kiss. Until she ran away.
MissFoolishHeart: My father is a football coach, and sometimes when he came home from practice, he’d bring a bucket of chicken with him. He and my mother and I would eat it on our front porch. There was something about those simple picnics out in the open air, waving to our neighbors, enjoying the fall colors, that felt easy. Safe. Last night, I had a picnic date, and for a while, it felt the same way.
He hadn’t expected that. Nor the growing surety that she didn’t know the avatar on the screen was really her boy next door.
BoyNextDoor: When did it stop feeling safe?
Please don’t answer when I kissed you.
MissFoolishHeart: He asked me to go to a football game Friday night.
Right. He had.
BoyNextDoor: You don’t like football?
MissFoolishHeart: I love football.
He watched the cursor blink.
Oh, Issy.
On the air, they returned from the commercial break and her voice came over the Internet player. “We’re back with five more minutes. Thank you for the definitions of a foolish heart. Miss Foolish Heart has her own—a foolish heart is one that loves recklessly. Any last callers?”
Loves recklessly. Perhaps that was the only kind of love. It made him pick up the phone again. He couldn’t help it. He had to hear her voice.
“BoyNextDoor, uh, thank you for calling back.”
“Thanks for taking my call, Miss Foolish Heart. I’m sorry for the abrupt hang up earlier. I want to ask you a question about the Girl.”
“Go ahead. You know I’m here to help.”
Yes, he actually believed that. And that she didn’t have
a clue as to his real identity. Why else would she have hesitated telling him the truth about her fears? He already knew them.
He couldn’t just let her go. She might be trying to protect you from something . . . herself.
He didn’t need protecting from Issy, thank you.
“I take it back. I don’t think the Girl is using me. I think she is afraid of me. Afraid of getting too close.”
Issy drew in her breath. “Yes. I agree.”
“So what if she already agreed to another date? Do you think I should ask her to keep it?”
“A lady keeps her commitments. But then again, a gentleman lets her beg out of them.”
“What if it would be good for her?” Having a slew of football players in her backyard, reminding her of all she once had?
“Are you ready to risk losing her for good if you push?”
No, he didn’t want to lose her. But he had the sense that she might already be slipping away. Maybe BoyNextDoor was his last hope to hang on to her.
“What if it’s my last chance?” He said it softly and let his emotions show. “What if I don’t take it and I lose her anyway?”
Please, Issy, hear my words.
“Then go for it, BoyNextDoor. You gotta play with all your heart, right?”
Her words caught in his chest, and he had no response before she rolled over to her closing lines. “Thanks for the calls, Lovelorn. Remember to visit the forum and post your comments. This is Miss Foolish Heart saying, your perfect love might be right next door.”
A love song closed out the show.
He waited for her to appear online, but her avatar showed that she’d signed off.
Above him, in her office, everything went dark.
16
“Where do you think my mother would’ve hidden the recipe for her potato salad?”
Lucy looked over to where Issy sat on the floor in front of her mother’s bookshelf, surrounded by a stack of cookbooks, recipe boxes, and three-by-five index cards. “The Thursday night football salad? You don’t remember it?”
My Foolish Heart Page 21
